All posts tagged cane

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Jasper tumbled through the front door, tired after another hectic day at the warehouse. It seemed that every day, the work got busier and busier but his low pay stayed the same. Anyway, he was dead beat. Much to his annoyance, he bumped into his sister. Her movie starlet looks and now a place at college were constant irritations to him, “Lesbian! Lesbian! Lesbian!” he shouted, taking his frustrations out on her.

Jasper’s cruel taunting soon had his younger sibling in tears. Just turned 18, young Hilary had man trouble. Or more strictly, no man trouble. For it was true, she had never had a boyfriend. “Lesbian, Lesbian!” he shouted again. Forced laughter followed from Jasper, but it soon stopped when he felt his father’s firm hand on his shoulder.

“I think you and I have some man to man business to discuss, young Jasper. Up to my bedroom. Now!” A while back, such a discussion would have resulted in a session with the slipper. Jasper was sure such indignities were in the past, at least for him. For he was almost 20, and proud to be working hard for a living.

In the bedroom, Jasper looked worried as his father removed first one, and then the other of his rubber-soled slippers and placed them on the bedding. Father spoke quietly to son, “Didn’t I warn you about picking on your sweet sister? Several times? And yet you still carry on, don’t you?”

“Sorry Dad.”

“It’s no good being sorry now, young Jasper. And just because now I’ve got my slipper ready.”

“Oh Dad, come on! The slipper? The slipper? Really? I’m almost 20!”

“You mean you’re still a teenager, son! A rude, disobedient, heartless one at that! In short, a bully. I think you are long overdue for a reminder of how much the slipper can sting.”

“No Dad, really! I’m almost 20, and Hilary will hear!”

“Yes, I’m sure she will. And perhaps that will teach you to be a lot kinder to her. Really, the way you treat her is nothing short of disgraceful. She’s a delicate girl, and now to top it all you are being a coward.”

“Dad, Dad, come on, be reasonable, I was only teasing her. She can take it.”

“I don’t know about that! But I do know that you can take a good slippering. From me. Right now. Bend over the bed, son. And take your trousers and pants down for me.” Jasper hesitated and played for time, but his father was having none of it, “Do it! And do it now, unless you want me to take them down. Or perhaps I should ask your sister to?”

Father seemed undecided which slipper to use. Left or right? Either one would pack a punch, of that there was no doubt. Outside the bedroom door, Hilary giggled to herself. Nasty brother Jasper was about to get his comeuppance, and she was about to get to hear all of the action. The slipper was soon connecting with the tender bare teenage flesh. Jasper groaned and yelped as the pain got through to him. Hilary was listening, enjoying every single whack, but regretting that the panelled door had no keyhole that she could spy through. She knew there would be no comeback, for she was her father’s pride and joy. A particularly severe blow caused Jasper to cry out, “Owww! For fuck’s sake Dad, I’m too old to be slippered!”

“What did you say? Did you swear? In my house! How dare you?”

“Sorry Dad.”

“You will be! You will be! So, you say you’re too old for the slipper? That’s good to hear because it just so happens that I found my mother’s old cane the other day. The one that kept me and your uncles in line for so many years. Let’s try it out! I’m sure it will prove to be a most effective remedy for bullying, cowardice and swearing.”

Father feigned deafness and moved over to the dressing table, opening the lowest drawer. He extracted the cane. It was a traditional schoolmaster’s model, with curved handle and a wicked swoosh as father practised swiping it through the air. The noise alone was enough to fill Jasper with dread and sincere regret.

“On all fours. Stick your bottom out more! I need a good target.” Father had barely-suppressed sadistic laughter in his voice as he instructed his son, “That’s it, higher!”

The cane cracked down for the first time. Outside Hilary was unsure what was happening. She heard the difference in the sound. It sounded something like a whip, crop or cane. It couldn’t be, could it? She couldn’t be sure. How cruel though! But then she remembered how Jasper had treated her over recent months and giggled softly to herself. Yes, Jasper deserved it.

The second stroke was much more powerful, catching the lad by surprise. The almighty crack of the rattan was followed by waves and waves of hot, flaming pain. Jasper collapsed flat on the bed, his hands clutching at his bottom,

“What the? Get up, this instant!” Father ordered, “In position. Now! Four more strokes to come!”

So it was to be the traditional six of the best, thought Jasper. Father lashed strokes three, four and five down rapidly. Jasper felt overwhelmed as the pain went way beyond bad. Outside, Hilary was so excited, she almost felt as if she might wet herself. She was certainly feeling light-headed.

“Last stroke son. Take it properly and we’re done here.” That was a challenge Jasper would have to rise to. He wiped a tear from his eye, and stuck his bottom out submissively, willing his father and the cane to do their very worst. And they did, once again the cane lashed down with a resounding crack which seemed to echo around the sparsely-furnished bedroom.

“OK, son. Get up!” Father flexed the cane right in front of his son, saying, “Now, we’ll have no more of this swearing. Or any lesbian talk, Jasper. Especially from someone who only seems to have male friends at the moment.” Father winked at son. Jasper was worried. He couldn’t know, could he?

Poor Jasper’s bottom was on fire. He looked at his sore bottom in the dressing table mirror. The flesh was flaming red all over, with the added bonus of six ugly cane weals which throbbed and itched and ached and burned. One thing was certain. There would be no mooning the other lads in the warehouse toilets for a good long while.

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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Back then in the early ’80s Peter had a bright red Beach Buggy. It had a fibreglass body and an air-cooled VW Beetle engine. Nowadays, it would probably seem a bit naff, but it pulled the girls! His folks had bought the car as his 21st birthday present. He felt really spoilt, and he was to a certain degree.

His folks indulged his every whim. They even allowed him to shag his regular girlfriend Linda in his room, as long as he locked the door and one of them took precautions. He asked his Dad one day about why they were so indulgent.

“I’m probably over-compensating. You see your grandparents were really strict with me. I didn’t dare do anything. They were much harsher times. Dad had a cane, and I got it at school too. Sometimes my bottom seemed like it was permanently scarred. It wasn’t, but it was all over the top as I was a well-behaved lad on the whole. A lot like you.”

“Oh, I had no idea.”

“No, well, it’s not something I like to dwell on. The past is gone, thankfully. Anyway, that’s why we chose a school for you that didn’t allow the cane.”

“Gee, thanks Dad.”

“No need to thank me. Your mother felt the same way. You know, just before he died, Dad gave me his old cane. He said I might be needing it as you got older.”

“Never!”

“Oh yes! Well, your mother and I agreed that we wouldn’t ever use it and that I should cut it up.”

“Good one, Dad! I expect you enjoyed destroying it?”

“Well son, I’m not really the destructive kind, as you know, but I placed in the vice with great glee, I can tell you. And then I got a hacksaw and was just about to cut it when the doorbell rang. It was the police, asking about some hoodlums. They had been trashing the allotments just down the road. I remember old Mr Wiggin nearly crying about the damage they’d done the day before. He was a war hero and really deserved better. I found myself agreeing with the coppers about the virtues of the birch. And after they’d gone, I really couldn’t face cutting up that cane. Don’t tell your mother, but it’s still in the garage.”

“Yes Peter?”

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know really. It’s family history of a sort, I suppose.”

“Well yes, that’s true. It is family history. I’ve got the scars to prove it!”

“Really?”

“Not, not really. They always healed up. But mental scars, yes, I still have some of those.”

“OK, forget it then. I don’t want to upset you.”

“No, it’s OK. This would be a good time to show you it, as your mother’s out paying the gas bill.”

So the two generations of the Appleton family headed for the double garage. From a dusty cupboard at the back, Peter’s father extracted the school cane. It had that classic, crook-handled shape. Peter had only seen canes in trashy comics.

“Doesn’t look up to much, Dad,” said Peter with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t be deceived. It’s a real killer. Hurts like mad. Believe me.”

“I do, I think. Still, it does look a bit weedy.”

“And before you ask, no you can’t try it.”

“I wasn’t going to…”

“Yes you were! It’s written all over your face. It’s no toy or game, I can assure you. No fun at all. Let’s cut it up now!”

“No!” said Peter with uncharacteristic vehemence. “No, that wouldn’t be right, would it Dad? Family history, like you said.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” said Dad swishing the cane through the air. “Alright, let’s put it away. I still don’t like to see the bloody thing.”

Days later, Peter was chatting to his mother about things, when the topic of the cane came up unexpectedly.

“Your father’s still got that cane, you know. I found it in the garage when I was poking around, last summer it was, I think. Yes.”

“I know. He showed me it.”

“He did? He was meant to cut it up. He didn’t though. I hope he hasn’t gone all kinky on me.”

“Kinky, how so?”

“Oh you must know, Peter. A bit of slap and tickle, you know. “

Peter was a bit embarrassed, but carried on, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about there, Mum. He seemed to be a bit in awe of that cane.”

“Yes, I bet,” said Mum sighing and shaking her head. She was in another world. She too had ample experience of corporal punishment back in its heyday. “I’d be happier if your father had cut it up like he’d promised.”

“No, mum. It’s family history.”

“If you say so, Peter. Really that thing belongs in a museum.” They would have to disagree on that one.

Some days, Peter would think about that cane. He’d think about it a lot. He’d wonder what it felt like to be beaten, and whether he could cope with the pain if he were ever to receive such a caning. At other times, he wondered about his father being on the receiving end. Had he cried? Was it given on trousers? Was it given on pants? He didn’t like to dwell on the thought, but perhaps it was even given on the bare! Now, that would have been scary! Scary but exciting, perhaps? Actually, he did dwell on it a bit. Well, a lot. Especially when masturbating. And at his age, Peter often masturbated several times a day, despite having the lovely Linda available. Sometimes it seemed as if Peter enjoyed masturbating to thoughts of the cane rather more than he enjoyed Linda’s warm and welcoming body.

Now and then, Peter would mention the cane to one or other parents. They conferred about this and were both disturbed by his thinly-disguised interest.

“Perhaps I should give him a quick whack and be done with it?” Dad suggested.

“No, I don’t think so, dear. We should get rid of that stick. It’s what we agreed. Besides, he’s 21 now, an adult. We can’t start whacking him now. He never messes up anyway.”

But he did mess up. Bigly. The Beach Buggy wasn’t a total write-off, but it was battered as it rolled off the road after an altercation with a Ford Capri. Worse still, Linda bashed her head in the accident and was kept in the local cottage hospital overnight for observation. Her father, a prominent magistrate, demanded she saw no more of Peter and in a frosty phone call to the parents prescribed ‘a good whipping’. It didn’t happen, of course.

Peter was badly shaken up for weeks after the accident. He became morose and withdrawn and missed Linda badly. She had dumped him, at her father’s insistence.

There was only one solution, Peter decided. One Tuesday evening, while his mother was at a WI meeting, he went to the garage. Opening the dusty cupboard he saw the golden yellow cane. It was what he needed and craved. Perhaps it would clear the air and break the circle of unhappiness Peter was trapped in?

Back in the lounge, Peter’s father was astounded to see his son holding the cane. He switched off the old colour set and sighed. There wasn’t much conversation, as the two men understood the situation instinctively.

“Are you sure? It’s got to hurt, you know,” Dad said gently…

Peter just nodded. He handed his father the cane.

“Right! We’ll do this properly or not at all. That means a bare bottom, I’m afraid, Peter!”

“Oh. I wasn’t expecting that, Dad.”

“Well, that makes you a little naive then, doesn’t it? Drop your jeans, over the arm of the settee. Jockeys down too, please.”

Reluctantly, Peter bared his youthful buttocks. He felt the cool air of the room on his naked flesh. He also felt the first stirrings of an erection. That was something he didn’t want his father to see.

Dad flexed the cane and swiped it through the air. It felt good to have the cane in his hands. It would probably be the one and only time he would get to beat the boy. He was determined to make it hurt, to make it count, to purge his son’s guilt. He would approach the beating as a solemn ritual, almost a religious rite. There would be no telling off, no verbal correction.

With a sudden swish-crack the first stroke landed. It had begun! Peter’s first caning had begun! The lad was excited but then the shock of the pain coursing through his body brought him to his senses. The throbbing and burning in his bottom was awful, just awful! He’d never experienced anything like it.

As a vicious second stroke landed, Peter wondered whether he’d made a mistake in volunteering for the caning. The burn from that stroke was even worse in its intensity. He couldn’t help but let out a loud groan. Yes, he had definitely miscalculated.

Dad flexed the cane and sighed with contentment. He’d never been on this end of the cane before and could now understand the appeal! It really was gratifying to use. The sound of the cane in use was terrific. This time there was a more noticeable physical reaction as Peter’s pert bottom flinched with pain. Soon, however, the son was sticking his bottom out submissively again, signalling that he was ready for the next onslaught. Father was determined not to go easy. A caning had to hurt, after all, didn’t it?

Another harsh stroke sliced into Peter’s buttocks. He sighed and groaned heavily. This was really too much! Dad wasn’t so sure, though. He admired his son’s striped bottom. How gorgeous those red marks were!

It was time to add another red beauty. The golden cane slashed down fiercely and bounced back ready for more action. Peter was sniffing and shuffling, not quite crying, but clearly upset.

“Keep still, Peter. It will all be over more quickly if you do,” his father said quietly.

After the sixth stroke, the boy made to get up. His father was having none of it! He pushed his lad back down roughly and then proceeded to give him four rapid fire strokes which had the lad gasping and writhing.

“Two more!” Father announced, with some regret as his sadism was surfacing and demanding even more. Peter was simultaneously relieved and anxious as the remaining tariff was announced. It would make twelve cane strokes in all. A harsh beating for a first timer.

The eleventh stroke hit home with a sickening crack. It was the hardest stroke yet, as Father was still exploring his technique. Peter yelped and then gasped like a naughty schoolboy.

“Last one, son. Brace yourself!”

Peter did brace himself. He gritted his teeth and did his best to clench his sore, sore buttocks together. He was willing his father on, hoping for a rapid conclusion to his beating. However, Peter’s father couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease his son by slicing the cane through the air several times, and making the boy wait. It was deliciously sadistic making his son endure the waiting. Peter was overcome with anticipation, willing the final stroke on. When it came it fell a bit flat. It wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Both men decided, independently, that there would have to be another caning, one with a more satisfactory ending.

Peter rose slowly, and his hands immediately sought to comfort his ravaged arse cheeks. No amount of rubbing or kneading would make a significant difference as it had been a thorough punishment. Slowly he pulled his white Y-fronts and blue jeans back up. Peter’s father was enjoying the spectacle. The two men smiled at each other and then father winked at his son.

“Room!” Dad commanded, pointing to the door with the crook-handled cane.

As Peter made his way up the stairs he felt a pleasant tingling in his penis, and a warm glow spreading all over his beaten bottom. He would have to masturbate!

In the lounge, Peter’s father poured himself a stiff one. He’d enjoyed dishing out that caning. He resolved again that it would not be the last. He rationalised this to himself by deciding that Peter would have benefited from his punishment. Although a good lad in general, he would need further guidance in future. Next time, Dad thought, he would have to make the young man’s bottom the same overall bright red as the Beach Buggy! Oh yes!

———————–

Peter’s mother returned from her meeting. She was tired and thirsty, but decided to slump on the settee for a few minutes. She was more than a little surprised to find that she was sat next to the old cane. It rather looked as if the men of the household had worked something out. Perhaps that was no bad thing? Well, boys will be boys!

The cane had weaved more than one spell that evening. Peter’s parents enjoyed a wild session in bed that night, their best for many a year.

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot all-male erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013 by popular request.

The air was heavy with cigarette smoke. The two men were chatting behind the counter, waiting for the flood of punters who would arrive as soon as the city offices closed. It was unmistakably a sex shop. The windows were blacked out, there were tacky neon signs and entry to the shop was via a beaded curtain. There were rows and rows of magazines, ranging from the tame to the explicit, though the latter were censored due to the Obscene Publications Act. It hadn’t been that long since the last police raid on the premises…

Proprietor Rick, 35, lanky, greasy and bearded, puffed on his long cigarette. Boyish runaway Peter, just 21, gazed naively at the contents of the shop. He’d only just got the job, which was proving to be quite an education for him.

“Is there a lot of demand for this homo stuff?” Peter asked Rick.

“Yes, it sells pretty well. Mainly to married men. City gents. Public school types.”

“I don’t really understand any of this stuff, it does nothing for me.”

“Don’t worry my boy. Later tonight, I’ll show you some proper uncensored stuff. Some of the gay stuff is pretty hot.”

“Well, if you must. I just don’t get it at all.”

“It’s taking off, Pete, my mate. Zig has been the spur, all that bisexuality stuff. It’s the future, I’m sure of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, trust me, mate.”

“Yes, I do, Rick. And what about this stuff, the spankers as you call them?”

“Ah yes, the spanking mags. Our best sellers, they are. The English are just mad about the stuff, especially the caning mags. It’s lost on most of the tourists, of course.”

“I had the cane at school. I can’t see the attraction. It bloody hurt, and wasn’t sexy at all.”

“Ah. Pleasure from pain. Yes, that’s a bit harder to explain. Very popular, all the same. There’s a good margin on spanking stuff and the cops don’t always seize it. Of course, a lot of them are into it. In a big way. Caning especially!” he laughed. Rick went on to explain the fine details of the bondage, S&M and fetish magazines and accessories stocked in the shop.

“So, going back to the police. Got any tips for me when we do get raided?”

“It doesn’t happen very often, Pete. Hopefully I’ll be here. But if not, just don’t let them near the ‘under the counter’ stuff. And be polite, for Christ’s sake. “Yes, Officer, No Officer, Three Bags Full, Sir”. I think they cream off some of the stuff for themselves, the wank mags, the spankers. Just make sure you do as they say. Otherwise I’ll be taking a cane to your sorry arse!”

“You wouldn’t dare! Anyway, I bet you haven’t got a cane.”

“You’re right. I haven’t got a cane. I’ve got several! We used to sell them, but the cops kept nicking them. Arseholes!”

“Shit, I’d better behave myself.”

“Yes, lad. You better had. You’re never too old for the cane, I always say.”

Peter gulped and decided to change the subject a little, “These blow-up dolls are a bit crap, aren’t they?”

“Ah yes, the Roxys, as I like to call them. A bit sad, but they’re good sellers. They’re crap, as you say. I certainly wouldn’t fuck one of them!”

“No, me neither, I’d rather wait for the real thing,” said Peter eyeing the masturbation aids.

Suddenly, the influx of customers arrived. There were older men in raincoats, and a few younger guys, all looking for wank fodder. Of course, some had guilty expressions, red faces and others had indulged in some Dutch courage. Peter enjoyed flirting with the older punters, as he slipped their purchases into discreet brown paper bags. Trade was brisk that evening.

That night young Peter was shown a lot of uncensored material, and ended up sleeping with Rick upstairs in the damp flat above the shop. It was a night that Peter would never regret. The two men became regular sexual partners. The arrangement suited young Peter as he could never pull the girls. For Rick, it was just lust for the 21-year-old’s youthful arse and tight hole. Both were curiously dispassionate about their affair and it never really developed into love.

A few months later, there was a police raid on the premises. Rick was absent, so young Peter had to handle things alone. A substantial amount of magazines was seized. Rick was furious but at least none of the more, ahem, specialised material was found by the coppers. Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty for the upheaval, though in truth he was blameless. The following few days at work he was completely downcast.

“Don’t worry, Peter. It’s not your fault we were raided. I’ve been in touch with the law, and they have said they might return some of the stuff as it has been cleared. I’m pretty matey with some of the lads down the station these days. Our paths cross a lot, as it were. I sometimes slip them a few spankers to keep them sweet. They’re only doing their job, after all.”

“You bribe them with spanking magazines?”

“That’s a very strong word, Peter. I just like to oil the cogs of the machines of justice, as it were.”

“Well it hasn’t worked, has it? They’ve not returned the stuff have they?”

“Not yet, but they will, my boy, they will.”

“You think!”

“No, I know. Now bite your lip, unless you want a good hard caning from your boss?”

“No thanks, Rick,” said Peter, although he did wonder if such a thrashing might purge his overwhelming feelings of guilt. His mind was in turmoil following the raid, and about his relationship with Rick. He was even beginning to feel guilty about working in the shop and how it would impact on his life and career.

A few days later, two policemen turned up at the shop at closing time. They had brought many of the seized magazines back with them, so Peter was tasked with unloading them from the Austin panda car. Soon the car was emptied, and the police sergeant sent the driver on his way.

“Drink, Mark?” Rick asked the sergeant.

“Well, I shouldn’t really, I’m still on duty. But if you insist.”

“I do, I do. Come upstairs for a beer, you too Peter.”

Peter was reluctant to join the two men. The presence of Sergeant Mark was making him nervous. After all, he was the cop who had fronted the raid on the premises. However, soon all three men were enjoying cans of frothy Watney Truman bitter while a Roberts transistor radio piped an offshore pirate station around the flat.

“Sorry about the raid, Rick. It was orders, of course.”

“It’s OK Mark, I understand.”

“The Super’s been ordering a crackdown. We’ll try and leave you out of the next round.”

“Cheers, Mark. I think the raid terrified young Peter here.”

Peter nodded and blushed.

“Well, he certainly could have been more helpful.”

“Really? PETER, IS THIS TRUE?” barked Rick.

Peter wasn’t sure how to react, so he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, he wasn’t very cooperative,” said the sergeant, frowning.

“Well, I’m sorry Mark. I had no idea. Perhaps the lad should have a taste of my cane? He must learn to help the rule of law!”

“Yes, Rick, a good caning would teach the lad some respect!”

“In fact, Mark, maybe you could do the honours?”

Peter’s jaw dropped as events started to move rapidly. Soon Rick returned from the bedroom with a swishy rattan school cane in his hands. He gave it to the sergeant.

“A fine specimen!” the policeman exclaimed, “Just like the ones at my old school. Err, Peter, it has to be bare, I’m afraid.”

Rick pulled a wooden chair into the middle of the room, commanding Peter, “Over!”

Peter complied reluctantly. He was scared. Scared of the sergeant, and scared of Rick. More than anything, he was scared of that cane. He’d always assumed Rick was joking about having some canes. Evidently not! He hadn’t had the cane for several years, and now he was going to get it from the big, burly policeman! He decided to comply to the letter, in the hope of some clemency or maybe a reduction in the number of strokes. Sighing, he let his jeans fall, and then his less than clean string pants followed.

The sergeant was enjoying the view, as was Rick. Their plan was working perfectly. Peter had been set up! The sergeant flexed the cane enthusiastically. He was going to enjoy this!

SWISH-CRACK! The policeman sliced the whippy rattan down hard on Peter’s unblemished buttocks. A deep red line appeared. It was a good cane. It was a very good cane! Rick already knew it was a very good cane, as he sourced all his canes direct from the importer. The importer was only to happy to supply the sex shops with the finest of punishment implements. After all, they gave a higher profit than the school trade.

SWISH-CRACK! Sergeant Mark whipped a second stroke down on Peter’s arse. The cheeks gave way as the cane sliced like a hot knife through butter.

SWISH-CRACK! Peter gasped and wriggled as the assault continued. He was told to keep still by the sergeant, “unless he wanted extra!” He didn’t! Of that, Peter was sure!

SWISH-CRACK! “YEEEOW!” Peter cried, just like a schoolboy. How gratifying that sound was.

SWISH-CRACK! A fifth stroke slashed down. What an expert tormentor the sergeant was proving to be!

SWISH-CRACK! A sixth stroke and Peter felt sure that would be the final one. But he was wrong! Very, very wrong!

SWISH-CRACK! The seventh was a real corker, cracking and burning into Peter’s soft posterior.

SWISH-CRACK! The eighth was the worst so far, searing and unforgiving. Peter bucked and writhed but by now Mark was almost in a trance, slashing the cane down without thought as he rejoiced in his own sadism.

SWISH-CRACK! The twelfth surely was the last? Yes, it was! It hurt like the blazes, but Peter was pleased to hear the cane clatter on the floor as the sergeant threw it down with a grunt.

Peter’s ordeal wasn’t over yet, however. The sergeant dragged him off to the bedroom saying, “We won’t be long!” to Rick.

“There’s some lube in the top drawer!” Rick shouted, just as the bedroom door slammed shut. Soon the sounds of the two males at it could be heard by Rick, after he’d switched Radio Veronica off! It all reminded him of when he was younger, when Mark had given him much the same treatment. Yes, Mark liked some “chocolate on his biscuit” as he had so charmingly referred to it. But Mark only liked them young. He had lost interest in sex with Rick once Rick had reached the ripe old age of twenty-five.

The frantic mating noises didn’t last long, just as the copper had predicted. Evidently, Mark had delivered his payload and soon emerged from the bedroom zipping up his police trousers.

“Take some pictures of Peter for me, will you Rick?” Mark asked with a grin on his face. Rick nodded and later that night duly snapped Peter with his Praktica. The lad’s shagged and caned arse featured heavily in the resulting portfolio. Rick knew exactly what Mark wanted in the photos, and had them processed by a trusted photolab just around the corner from the sex shop.

Over the next few days and weeks, Peter couldn’t decide if he’d enjoyed the sex and caning he’d endured courtesy of hunky cop Mark. Sometimes, he felt as if it had been terrific. Other times, he felt used and dirty. Eventually, his mind settled on the positive and he confided in Rick that he’d like to see Mark again. It happened! And it so happened that there were also threesomes where Peter’s bottom entertained both Rick and Sergeant Mark. There were no more raids on the shop for another four years or so.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A first repeat of this hot story by Rod Cayenne, from 2014. Strictly for over 18s only!

In the seaside convenience store, the two retired headmasters eyed each other warily.

“Bernie?”

“William?”

Gradually, broad grins emerged. The two hadn’t seen each other for many years, although Christmas cards had been exchanged regularly. They had met each other at a teaching conference in London, where they immediately hit it off and ended up bed-sharing. Of course, back in those dark and distant days, they had to be really discreet. They soon discovered that they had both retired to the same vibrant coastal town with its many attractions and gay-friendly atmosphere.

“Back to my place?”

“That would be nice!”

“Better get some of these then. I’m right out of them. Can’t be too careful these days,” said Bernie as he tossed a box of a dozen Durex into his basket.

William made no comment, but picked a tube of KY lubricant and followed his friend to the checkout. As they queued, he couldn’t resist slipping his hand under Bernie’s cord jacket. He pinched the pert bottom hard! Bernie gasped with surprise, before saying, “You’ll pay for that, William!”

“Oh, I do hope so, Bernie, I do hope so.” Already roles were being arranged for what would be their first encounter for many years!

The checkout guy was young, fresh-faced and extremely large. He joked with Bernie and then with William, laughing as he wished the gents “a fun evening!” After all, it was obvious what was on the cards for the two friends.

As they strolled along the esplanade, William raised a topic of mutual interest, “You’ve got a cane at home?”

“Several, actually. And you will be feeling them all!”

“Yes, I rather thought I might be.”

“Tell me, William, did you take my advice all those years ago?”

“Rather! After the conference, I thought long and hard about the benefits of corporal punishment, and then became an enthusiastic caner. I got quite a taste for it. Used to cane the buggers really hard. I loved it when they squealed! And of course, behaviour and academic achievement went through the roof!”

“Told you so!”

“Yes, you did. Teachers like us were like gods in those days. And then I hooked up with our Classics master. Somehow we discovered that we had a mutual fascination for cp. We used to cane each other a lot, especially when his wife was away. I didn’t think I’d like being on the receiving end, but I did. It’s jolly good fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed, almost a sport of kings.”

“Eh?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, anyway, I used to lie in his arms afterwards and say, ‘I never expected to be doing this.’”

“Mmmmm, nice!”

“I’m so glad to have found you again, Bernie. I need it badly.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t worry, I’ll be giving it to you alright. Hot and hard!”

“Right! It has to be hard to feel the benefits, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does, indeed it does. No pussyfooting.”

Bernie’s house was a whitewashed art deco treasure. It boasted superb coastal views and had an air of opulence. The sympathetic furnishings emphasised the expensive look. Bernie fiddled with the espresso coffee machine as William took in the view from the kitchen.

“A quick cuppa, then I shall be sorting out your naughty botty!” said Bernie, slipping into some childish banter, “Your very wicked, naughty botty!”

William blushed a deep red, and then Bernie landed a sharp smack on his friend’s buttocks. “Ooh, Sir!” William camped it up.

Bernie took the tray of coffee and biscuits into the living room and switched on the TV, saying, “I just need to check the cricket.”

“I do so miss the traditional cricket whites,” William observed, “So much sexier than those coloured outfits.”

Bernie sighed and nodded. It was becoming apparent that the two men had so much in common. A love for the good old days, leather and willow, rattan and flesh. He could see that they could end up living together. The thought rather startled him, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable he would be sharing his palatial place. Better make William’s beating extra hard, he decided. After all, the man would have to earn his keep!

“Right William!” Bernie suddenly announced in his most headmasterly tone, “Time for your thrashing! I’m just going upstairs to get some canes. When I come back, I expect to see you bent over this sofa. You can keep your trousers on. For now!”

Unfortunately for William, the trousers didn’t stay up for long, and neither did his skimpy briefs. The tariff was soon escalating, 6…12…18…24…30…36! William’s arse was a deep scarlet, or was it black and blue? Well, it was a bit of a mess, anyway. Bernie felt a bit ashamed of the beating he’d given his sweet friend, but both had clearly derived enjoyment from it, all the same. And then, up in the bedroom, among the Egyptian cotton sheets, the two gods made love.

A few months later, William let himself into his lover’s house. He was surprised to find Bernie had company.

“Who’s this then?”

“It’s my nephew, Steven. He’s come down on the train for the day. He’s a good lad, aren’t you, Steven?”

“Err…”

“Well, good on the whole, but like all boys he can be a bit naughty at times.”

“Really?” asked William.

“Yes, honestly. He likes to drop in unannounced. Although he’s 22, he can be a bit of a pest.”

“Really? He looks more like an angel than a pest. Tell me, Steven, have you been pestering you Uncle Bernie?”

But Bernie leapt in with a quick retort, “Yes, he keeps pestering me for a caning, would you believe? Says he wants to find out what it was like!”

“Really, Steven?”

“Err yes. It was just a silly notion. Just to find out. I was only interested because Uncle Bernie was a headmaster back in the days when the cane was allowed.”

“So was I!”

“Oh wow! Two headmasters. I can’t believe my luck!”

Bernie cleared his throat noisily, saying, “Steven, it’s not luck, I feel. Coincidence possibly. More likely that it’s destiny. Now, I’ve never entertained your wish before. But with Headmaster William here as well, I’m sorely tempted, if only to nip this nonsense in the bud! Now, how about if both of us give you six of the very best? Each.”

“Oh, Uncle! 12? That’s rather more than I had in mind.”

“Take it or leave it, my boy!”

“I’ll take it then, but not too hard, Uncle!”

“They will be hard. It’s the only way. You will survive, maybe it will stop you pestering me and you may even come out as a better young man because of it. Let me just check that William is willing to assist. Well, William?”

“Oh yes! I could use some practice! Getting a bit rusty, don’t you know?”

“In that case, William, please go and fetch me a couple of senior boy’s canes. I think you know where they are?”

If young Steven had been gifted with common sense, he might have wondered just how the visitor knew where Uncle Bernie’s canes were kept. But he didn’t. All he could think of was his pending thrashing. Something he had wished to experience for years, and which had been a masturbatory fantasy since his early teenage years. Now that his wish was about to come true, he was rather worried and started to bite gently on his lip.

William ran upstairs, only to return quickly with two crook-handled canes and a broad, cheesy grin. He surveyed the scene before him. During his short absence, Bernie had arranged for nephew Stephen to bend over the sofa, in just the same spot that the two friends had made favourite for William’s own canings! So there was the youthful angel or pest obediently bent, offering his denim-clad buttocks for chastisement.

“Right! Listen carefully, Steven. I expect total obedience during your beating. No jumping up, shouting or swearing. Is that clear?”

“Oh yes, Sir!” young Steven exclaimed.

“Well, it had better be! Any disobedience will result in extra strokes. And they will be extra hard. Still clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now, it will be six strokes. To get the full school experience, it will be two strokes on your jeans, two more on your underwear, and a final two on your unclothed seat!”

“Wait a minute. Bare?”

“Yes, of course bare! Think yourself lucky I’m not giving you all six bare.”

“Alright, alright! I’m ready. Can we get on with it please?”

William detected some impatience and rudeness in young Steven’s tone. He wasn’t going to put up with that! Well, he would, but the lad’s reward would be a harder caning than William had first planned! Two swift, crisp and hard strokes landed on the blue denim, causing gasping from young Steven. His 22-year-old brain wasn’t used to processing such pain! He couldn’t believe how the pain seemed to be multiplying and overwhelming any feelings of embarrassment and excitement. He was starting to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“Right, Steven! Drop your jeans down for me. There’s a good lad!” said William in his most patronising headmaster tones. Reluctantly Steven did as he was told, craftily giving his bottom a rub as he did so. “Steven, I saw that! No rubbing! That’s expressly forbidden!”

Steven thought about sparring further, but the pain in his ample bottom reminded him that this was a time for obedience, not for cheek.

Crack! The cane lashed down on the boy’s tight black briefs.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Steven, surprised by how much more sting the cane gave now that it was on just the one thin layer of clothing.

“QUIET!” shouted William as he slashed down the fourth stroke with gusto.

“OWWW!”

“I shall not tell you again! Get those pants down!”

Slowly, Steven edged his briefs down to join the jeans crumpled around his feet. Both retired headmasters admired the view revealed to them. A peachy, fleshy pink bottom decorated with harsh red striping. It throbbed and ached as Steven adjusted his position, bending over the edge of the sofa, offering his naked buttocks to the two men. Salty tears were threatening to flow from his misty eyes. This wasn’t exciting, this was humiliating!

The fifth stroke cracked down, the cane bending and distorting the flesh beneath it. It was the hardest stroke yet, waves of heat and hurt overwhelming the cheeky youngster.

“Shit!” muttered Steven to himself. This was bad, and then it got worse as the sixth stroke lashed his buttocks! His arse was red-hot, incandescent with heat and as sore as hell.

William sighed heavily. He walked around the other side of the sofa and looked the boy in the eye. “Not too badly taken, for a beginner,” he said, “Let’s see if your uncle can cure your pestering, shall we?”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Sir! I won’t be pestering him for a caning ever again! Uncle, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Been watching you take your first beating.” In fact, Bernie had been watching with growing pleasure.

“I’m sorry for nagging you, Uncle. You can let me off, if you like!”

“Nice try, Steven. But you’ve been asking for this for months. Literally asking for it. No, no. I won’t be letting you off at all. In fact, I want to ensure that you never ask me for a caning again. And it seems to me that the best way to ensure that is for me to beat you hard. Harder than William already has.”

“Oh, Uncle!”

“All six strokes from me will be on your bared bottom!”

“Oh!”

“Yes, indeed. No sense in covering it up again. Same rules, no shouting, swearing, moving out of position or rubbing! Understood?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Call me Sir! If it was good enough for William, then it’s good enough for me!”

“Yes, Uncle Bernie.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, boy?”

“Sorry Sir!”

“That’s better. Now, brace yourself! Here it comes.”

And come it did. It lashed down with staggering force. The pain came too. Wave after wave of it. Bernie smiled to himself. He was a better caner than William, he was sure. It wasn’t a competition, but he was determined to make a more severe impression than his lover had. Steven was startled by the viciousness of that first stroke. He gasped and choked. It was all too much, too much by far!

A second harsh stroke from the slightly sadistic uncle followed. The red stripe throbbed and pain shot all around from it.

“GET BACK DOWN, STEVEN!” shouted Uncle Bernie. William laughed loudly at the perhaps predictable turn of events. Bernie was worried that his nephew was going to start playing up. So he quickly lashed the remaining four strokes down, rapid fire style.

“ARRRGH!” cried Steven.

“Well now, Steven. I think you are due some extras. One for swearing, one for getting up, one for rubbing, one…” It was now Bernie’s turn to laugh. “Well, OK, maybe not. I think you’ve had enough for one day, haven’t you? Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“Aha. Suit yourself. You know I’m very fond of you. Come back when you’re good and ready. And I’ll be dismayed if you ever pester me for another caning.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, uncle. I’m cured!”

“And please don’t tell your parents about any of this.”

“Oh, no chance of that,” said Steven, zipping up his jeans smartly, “No chance at all. I’d be far too embarrassed for one thing.”

“Good. You’re a good lad. With a tough arse. Wouldn’t you agree, William?”

“Yes, you did well, Steven. Here, give me a hug!”

It ended as a group hug. And then after Steven had gone, the two men had their own cuddle on the sofa. They masturbated each other as they listened to a secretly recorded tape of Steven’s thrashing. How they laughed as the lad squealed on the tape. They wanked faster and faster. “I never thought I’d be doing this,” said William wistfully.

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Happy new year! Let’s start the celebrations with a first repeat of this hot story by Rod Cayenne, from 2014. Strictly for over 18s only!

Terry was staying at Uncle Billy’s house for a fortnight. He looked around the large lounge. It was full of souvenirs from his uncle’s seafaring days. Uncle Billy had eased back from that whistle-stop lifestyle a long time ago and his home now paid homage to those distant days. The room was dominated by a large black wooden elephant and a coiled bullwhip hanging on the wall of an alcove. Terry looked at the whip and shook his head.

“Looks kind of exciting. In a fierce way, of course,” Terry added.

“Yes, although I’m not sure exciting is the right word there, young Terry. I can see it would get the adrenaline flowing. It cuts and tears flesh. Not suitable for use on humans, only animals with tough, leathery hides.”

“That’s a relief!” exclaimed the young nephew.

“Well, you’re here for a holiday, aren’t you? I’m sure you won’t do anything to upset me and wish I could whip you!” laughed Billy, “It’s only for show, I could never use it. However, be warned that I do have a riding crop and cane. I could use both of them on you if you do play me up!”

“Don’t be stupid, lad! The riding crop is from the saddlery down the road. It’s a lovely item. The cane was my father’s, of course. I remember its sting all too well! Yeowch!” Uncle Billy grimaced and rubbed his bottom with earnest nostalgia and perhaps a hint of fun.

“Hold on, your father used to cane you?”

“Oh yes! Hard beatings they were, too. And always trousers and underwear down. I even got it at your age.”

“What? 21?”

“Oh yes! 21, 22, 23, I think.”

“Gosh!”

“Well 21 was the age of majority back then, and I lived with Daddy and his cane for another couple of years after that.”

“How awful! And on your, err, naked, er, backside?”

“Oh yes indeed!”

Terry gulped as he took it all in. Perhaps it was no wonder that Uncle Billy had eventually run away to sea? Suddenly he found himself rubbing his own bottom through his thin summer-weight shorts. He caught his uncle’s intense and beery gaze.

“Wow! That must have been painful. Was it a bit exciting, too?”

“No! Not at all. What a strange question! Really, you youngsters have no idea. How can you think being caned, let alone whipped, was exciting? You’re not, you know, a bit strange are you?”

“Oh no, Uncle. It’s just that it seems like another world. So very different from today. So hard to comprehend.”

“I understand, I think, young Terry. Would you like to see that cane?”

“No thanks. No need, Uncle. I’m not that interested, really.”

It was a lie. Both men knew it. Uncle raised his bushy right eyebrow quizzically and instructed Terry, “It’s in the umbrella stand in the hall, right by the front door. I think the riding crop is there too. Be a good lad and bring me both. Go on then! See to it!”

Terry made his way to the hall. He was annoyed that his uncle had wondered whether he was a bit strange. After all, Uncle Billy was the one with the bullwhip, cane and riding crop in his house, and all for ornamentation rather than use! He found the cane straight away, its lithe crook handle sticking out prominently above the umbrellas and walking sticks. It didn’t look that old, Terry thought to himself. He then busied himself looking for the riding crop. Being a tad shorter, it was not visible immediately. Only after removing a few sticks and brollies did he find it. It was a beautiful item, with the shaft’s leather plaited neatly in black and blue. Somehow that seemed appropriate to young Terry.

“Aha, but I thought you said it was exciting?”

“I meant exciting in a sort of creepy way!”

“You mean something like a horror film, then?”

“Exactly, Uncle. I suppose you’d say it was a kind of morbid fascination.”

“Yes. You’re making sense now. So which do you want to try first? The cane or the crop?”

Terry blushed a brighter red than he had ever done before, “I never said anything about trying them, Uncle!”

“I know that, lad. But I can read you like a book. You want to, don’t you? Yes, you’re a bit of a masochist on the quiet, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“Oh Uncle! What a horrible word!”

“I believe in calling a spade a spade, Terry. You want to give it a go, don’t you? Eh?”

“No, I really don’t. And if we’re calling a spade a spade then you’re not even a proper uncle!”

“Well, that’s a bit rude Terry, but I suppose you’re technically right there. But I am a family friend. A friend of yours, and I’m offering you a favour, aren’t I? You’re a masochist, and maybe there’s a little sadist in me, I think. Well now, this is getting awkward. Are we going to do it or not?”

“Alright, alright! But not too hard!”

“Terry, it has to be a bit hard, you know. To see what it’s like. To see whether you like it or not. We’re not playing a school playground game here, after all. Now, drop those shorts for me please.”

Terry dropped his summer shorts, revealing some surprisingly conservative grey briefs. Sensing some residual reluctance, Uncle Billy bent Terry over the back of the sofa and yanked down the underwear in one seamless movement. All was revealed!

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting that!” exclaimed the youngster.

“Oh yes you were! I think six strokes of the cane for persistent lying and disrespect.”

“Hey! That’s a lot!”

“No, trust me. It’s not. Not at 21. You can take it. But do try to be quiet as the windows really do have to be open at this time of year. Ready?”

“No!” Terry suddenly exclaimed. But he was too late to alter his date with destiny, for the cane cracked down viciously just at that moment.

“Ye Gods!” Terry exclaimed as the red-hot burn kicked in, “Oh hell!”

Uncle Billy laughed at his nephew’s discomfort. The cane was raised high again, and again Billy let rip with a severe stroke which lashed Terry’s naked bottom. This time Terry just yelped. He was prepared for the pain the second time. But he really didn’t like it. Not one bit. This was definitely no fun at all. He was telling himself this just as Billy guided the cane in for a third stroke. This was the worst stroke so far, whipping the pale young flesh with gay abandon. Terry squealed this time.

“You can have a break for a minute, if you want to,” Uncle Billy informed his guest.

“Thanks, but I’d rather get it over with. I can’t believe I agreed to this!” said Terry ruefully.

“You didn’t! Actually, perhaps you did. Anyway, I do believe it’s just what you need.”

Just then uncle lashed the fourth stroke down, slightly off-cue and rather low down. Judging by Terry’s reaction, it was by far the worst stroke yet. The youngster leapt to his feet, clutching his thrashed behind.

“Yes, very entertaining, Terry. But you’ve got five seconds to get back down, otherwise you’ll be getting extras! One. Two. Three. Four. Five.”

Terry held out until the last count before bending back over the sofa. Four distinctive scarlet tramlines decorated his otherwise pale buttocks. Uncle sighed with pleasure as he surveyed them. He had done all that, and it felt great! He really liked being on the right end of the stick after all these years. Yes, it was terrific. Already he was forming plans for further beatings for Terry during his two-week stay. He flexed the cane and then sliced it down again.

This time Terry gasped, and his hands flew back to his buttocks, in a vain attempt to soothe away the burning pain. Uncle Billy was not amused. “Terry, get those hands off there immediately! They’re right in the firing line, and you are this far from those extras I promised you.”

“Sorry, Uncle. “

“Right. Apology accepted. Last stroke coming up. Keep still and keep those hands out of the way!”

Crack! The cane lashed down for the last time. Terry cried out; he really couldn’t help himself.

“Good! That’s better. Not bad for a beginner. Of course, Daddy used to give me more than that. But I was used to it. Now, time for the extras!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, Terry! Just a couple with the crop, I think. Stay just where you are.”

Terry had forgotten about the crop. Uncle picked it up and sliced it through the air. It made a different sound, when compared to the cane. Perhaps a deeper sound, still chilling and exciting, however. Uncle moved closer and whacked the crop into the waiting target.

“Owww!” cried Terry, somewhat startled at the pain this new assault delivered. It was different, but really just as bad!

Uncle Billy laughed and sliced the crop down again. Terry gasped, and almost choked as pain engulfed his wiry frame. Eight red lines were causing new waves of agony on the punished buttocks.

Terry rubbed and rubbed at his arse, but nothing would help ameliorate the throbbing hot pain. He looked embarrassed, as Uncle Billy patted the cushion next to him on the sofa, saying, “Come and sit down, Terry. You look like you’ve had enough excitement for one day!”

“You’re not wrong there, uncle. But thank you. I hope we’ll fit in some more excitement before I go home.”

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot short fiction by brand new special guest author Ian Squire. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.

Paul and Kim were lodgers in my house. They had the top half of it, with a bedroom and bathroom suite attached. Paul was 28 and Kim was 25. They could come and go as they wished as long as they kept the place clean and tidy and stayed in their part of the house.

I went away on one Saturday and came back Sunday at about 1pm in the afternoon. What I saw when entering was a shock to me. It was obvious they had thrown a party while I was gone and the house was trashed. They were I presumed still asleep in bed so I waited until they came down. At 2pm they did and saw me and the state of my house.

“What is the meaning of this?” I asked them, “This is totally unacceptable! You will clean this house up now and then find somewhere else to live.”

“Please Sir, do not throw us out,” said Paul, “We have nowhere else to go. We will do anything to make amends.”

” Then you will accept whatever punishment I decide for you,” I told them, ” You are both going to receive a bare bottom caning, and given very hard, as this is what you deserve!”

” Yes Sir. We will accept whatever you decide is best for us,” said Paul.

” Do you accept this as well, Kim?” I asked, “Yes Sir, I do as well,” she said.

“You are both off work on Tuesday so I will carry out your caning then.”

Tuesday arrived and I summoned them to the lounge. “Both of you will strip naked and then I will begin,” I instructed. They did as they were told. Paul had a nice slim bottom and Kim had a little chubby one.

This was something I was going to enjoy doing. I fetched my junior thin rattan cane, nice and whippy and bendy. Perfect for their bottoms. I told Paul to stand in the centre of the lounge and bend over and touch his toes. This he did.

It was a lovely sight to see and I applied six very hard strokes to his bottom. He yelped after the first three but remained in position until his full six strokes had been given. I told him to get up and then told Kim to touch her toes, which she did. She too felt the wrath of my cane as each stroke landed and she starting crying after number four. I told them both to stand in the corner with their hands on their heads until I was ready to give them more, which they did.

After 15 minutes I told them to come out. I placed an ottoman in the centre of the lounge and motioned Paul to kneel on it, which he did. “Stick that bottom right out and place your hands on the floor,” I said, which he did. Then I applied six more hard strokes. The sound of the SWISH WHACK! as each one landed was beautiful and I revelled in giving each stroke. Paul cried throughout like a baby, but this needed to be done!

Then I told Kim to take Paul’s place, which she did. Another six strokes resounded the room as I let fly with my cane. She cried with each stroke too, but a lesson had to be learnt.

“You may both go now to your rooms now!” I said. “Just remember what will happen if such behaviour ever happens again. Next time you will receive more!”

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

“Hello Tim, how much studying have you done tonight?”

“Not so much, Dad. Hardly any. Well, next to none.”

“You mean precisely none?”

“Yes, none, sorry Dad.”

“And just remind me how much studying you did over the weekend, please.”

“Err, sorry Dad, that was none too.”

“And just remind me how long it is until your A Level exams.”

“A term, or so, Dad. I’m sorry, it’s not my fault. It’s this new video game. It’s so absorbing. You play as this really cool character…”

“I don’t want to hear about it! Of course it’s your fault that you’ve done no studying! It’s not my fault is it? It’s not that new game’s fault either. It’s time you faced up to your own failings and lack of self-discipline. Now, I told you there would be serious consequences if you didn’t buck your ideas up, didn’t I?”

“No, and don’t be so cocky! Turn it off. Right now! I want your undivided attention for a minute. I’ve got an appointment with your headmaster, Mr Crudge, first thing in the morning. I’m not happy about having to discuss your laziness with him. Not one bit. I’m a busy man and I will be late in for work. Fortunately my boss was very understanding when I told him what I was going to do. In fact a lot of it was his idea.”

Tim wasn’t scared of ‘Thrasher’ Crudge. The old man had lost his edge ever since corporal punishment had been banned, or maybe even a bit before. He could give a mean tongue-lashing, but now there was no bite to back it up.

The following day, Tim’s father was ushered in to see Mr. Crudge. The old headmaster sat listening intently as the boy’s failings were recounted. It wasn’t an entirely new story. There seemed to be a malaise of laziness spreading throughout the nation’s youth, and by now it had even infected the offspring of the burghers and citizens of the small market town. The older man spoke, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel compelled to speak frankly. I’m inclined to think a lot of this is your own fault, as the boy’s father. Did you or did you not buy him this video game console thing?”

“Well yes, I did headmaster, he was most insistent.”

“Hmm, I bet he was.”

“It’s not that simple though. The kids of today, a lot of them have much more money than you and I did as lads. He is 18 and he’d have bought himself one if I hadn’t.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. But you must have agreed to him having a television set in his bedroom in the first place.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Most unwise, if I may say so, most unwise. Now, how can I help? Have you decided to take away the TV and games console?”

“No, I can’t bring myself to do that. That would be cruel. What I was wondering was. I was thinking, perhaps…”

“Come on man, spit it out!”

“Well I was talking to my boss down the factory. In the office.”

“Indeed?”

“Well, he was saying that it’s not that long since corporal punishment was abolished. He’d heard that some headmasters did home visits to get around the new rules.”

“What? What? Am I understanding you correctly? Home visits to carry out punishments that a father could and should do himself? The very idea!”

“Oh, I see. You’re not one of those select few then?”

“A self-selecting few I should imagine! No, no, no!”

“I just thought a short, sharp shock, like I used to get in this very office, would be much kinder in the long run than taking Tim’s stuff away.”

“Wait! You were thrashed here? By my predecessor I take it, Mr. Bloom?”

“Yes, Basher Bloom we used to call him.”

“Yes, I’d heard. Most disrespectful, if I may say so. Anyway, we’re drifting. You could give your lad a slippering, you know. A good hot dozen or so. Or 18 to match his age. Yes, that’s what I’d recommend, off the record, of course.”

“Of course. I could, headmaster, that’s very true. But you and I both know that the cane is in another league, don’t we? I think I’ve left it a bit late for a tap or two with the slipper. I was thinking of an old-fashioned six of the best with the cane. Like I used to get from old Mr Bloom. Yes, six of the very best from an experienced disciplinarian. Something that will make a real impression. So, I’m afraid that I hardly qualify.”

“Well, yes, you’re right. The cane is not that easy to master. There is a certain technique to it. You’d find it difficult to start with, it’s true. It’s a dying skill, of course. Sadly. I’m not convinced that abolition represents progress. Anyway, it just so happens that I do still have some canes here. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Would you like to see them?”

“Err, yes please. I’ve never seen one close up. Though I certainly remember the sting!”

“Yes, I’m sure. Not easily forgotten, eh? Now, take a look at these fine specimens,” said the headmaster as he produced four dusty canes from out of nowhere.

Tim’s father surveyed the canes before him, “Actually, they look a bit old to me. And lifeless. Are you sure they’d still be up any good? Are they up to the job?”

“Most definitely I’m sure! Is that a challenge? All right, you’re on! Your lad’s going to confirm that they’re up to it!”

The conspiracy was on! A date was fixed. A time was fixed. Teenager Tim was transfixed. He uttered that most stupid of questions, “Is that a cane?”

Crudge smiled at him, “Yes it’s a cane, my lad. I like to think of it as my very own Afterburner. Or a kind of Beat ‘Em Up!”

Tim groaned inwardly at the headmaster’s puns, but couldn’t take his eyes off the rattan cane. He’d never, ever seen one before. It looked old and wicked, just like the headmaster. He gazed at the crook-handled cane in the old mans hand. His eyes misted over.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” said Crudge as he flexed the cane menacingly, “Too much playing and not enough working. Disgraceful! Now, the Boss will take you to the next level. Bend over this chair for me.”

So it was that Tim obeyed ‘Thrasher’ Crudge. The atmosphere was electric as the lad bent over the dining chair. The old man wasted no time, whipping down a first stroke that caught the teen by surprise. A second stroke followed, causing Tim to yelp with pain and alarm. A third stroke landed with a resounding thwack. By now a wildfire seemed to be burning beneath Tim’s trousers and underpants. “No more, please! Dad! Help!” the teenager cried out, losing all dignity, and started to rise from the chair.

“Get back down! Right now! Don’t you dare move again,” chided the headmaster.

“Sorry son, this is long overdue. Now, do as Mr Crudge says and take your medicine like a man!” Father chipped in.

Crudge resolved to get the thrashing over quickly to avoid further outbursts. He hadn’t told the lad that it would be six strokes, but he lashed the final three down rapidly. Tim could bear it no more, standing up and shouting, “Bloody Hell!”

The headmaster frowned, and used his cane to point at the teenager, saying, “Well, that’s a surprise! I do believe you’ve earned a bonus round. I told you to stay down, and you disobeyed me, didn’t you? And swearing as well. Tut, tut. Two strokes extra!”

By now Tim’s father was wondering if he’d made a mistake in inviting the headmaster over. Eight strokes was a bit excessive, he began to think. As his son bent over, father could only imagine the pain he must be in. His mind flashed back to canings he’d received all those years ago. The pain, the weals, the ridges, the bruising, the teasing of his classmates and the shame. And yes, the tears.

Father was brought back to the present with a loud awakening. It was the crack of the seventh stroke of the cane, which caused his son to yell out furiously. Savouring the moment, Crudge lined the whippy old cane up for a final excruciating stroke. It had been a long time, he thought. Too long. Landing the stroke right on target, it cracked loudly against the lad’s fleshy arse. Tim gasped and sobbed but at last it was over. He was instructed to rise, and then to his surprise and that of his father, he shook Mr Crudge’s hand firmly, as if he was sincerely grateful for the lesson imparted.

It was to be the first, but not last time that Mr Crudge was invited over to discipline Tim. And in the end, the old headmaster got a taste for making such home visits. Tim’s father was given a substantial pay rise by his boss. And Tim? Well, he got in to a very good University, quite easily.

___WARNING: May be continued!___

_______________________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this hot and homoerotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over!

My local newsagent, Mr Kumar, was such a sweet old thing. His greying hair and gold-rimmed spectacles betrayed his age, which was probably mid-60s. He carefully slotted my copy of “Mayfair” inside the “Telegraph.” He winked at me as he did so, and I handed a crisp new note over to him. He understood that us men sometimes needed this one-handed reading matter to relieve our domestic tensions. Indeed, in my case it was being decidedly unattached which made my urges at times overwhelming.

Just as I was about to leave, Kumar pulled me to one side. “Mr Kemp,” he said, “It’s not my place to judge, but I wanted a word about your son, Robert.”

“Really? I do hope he hasn’t been stealing stuff,” I laughed, knowing full well that my son wouldn’t do that.

“No, no, bless me, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to check his age with you.”

“He’s eighteen. Cigarettes?”

“No, not that either. Eighteen is good and legal. You see, he buys adult magazines too. Rather specialist ones, you might say. Mainly these spanking ones.” With that, Kumar pointed a spindly finger at some top shelf titles like Janus, Blushes and Swish! “An unusual taste in one so young, if I may say so,” he chuckled.

Ignoring his gaze, I picked up one of the titles, actually some sort of readers’ letters edition. I flicked through and looked at the photos and illustrations of attractive maidens having their bare young bottoms spanked, slippered, hairbrushed and caned. I swallowed hard. I really couldn’t see the appeal of it all.

I sighed and placed the magazine back on the top shelf, noticing the exceptionally high price tag on the fluorescent orange sticker as I did so. “Disgusting!” I exclaimed, probably more from embarrassment than true revulsion.

“I don’t like stocking those magazines, but the wholesaler always sends them, and doesn’t like too many returns. I’m probably cutting off my nose to spite my face here,” said Mr Kumar, “Because young Robert is one of my best customers.”

“Well thank you for letting me know,” I said laughing, “Perhaps I’ll get my slipper or hairbrush on the case!”

“Oh no! Oh no, no, no! I didn’t mean to cause trouble!” he said, but you know, I rather think he did.

I went back to my old Cortina, wondering what to do. Was it any of my business? Was it any of Kumar’s business? No and no, the answers came to me. Perhaps I should have let Robert have my back issues, although to be honest I rather prized my collection of Men Only and Mayfair magazines. I decided to do nothing. I got home and read the paper, and then proceeded to enjoy my adult reading. As I spunked over my belly and chest, I started to feel a little bit guilty. Guilty about knowing my son’s secret, and guilty about my double standards. Still, there it was.

Unfortunately, things came to a head only a week or so later. I came home early, only to find Robert masturbating in the living room. He was looking at one of the spanking magazines.

“Robert! What the hell are you doing? In the lounge, of all places! Give me that magazine!”

Once again, I found myself flicking through what is commonly known as a “spanker,” although this time my interest was more piqued. Page after page of naughty females being spanked, their arses up in the air, with pretty much everything clearly on view. Oh yes, this time I could kind of see the appeal. But that didn’t stop me being a complete hypocrite! I shouted at my son some more, “This is utter filth! Girlie mags are one thing, but this sort of depraved thing’s only suitable for the dirty mac brigade! I was brought up that it was wrong to hit women, so this really sickens me!”

“Sorry, Dad,” was all that my embarrassed teenager could say.

“Have you any idea how much this would hurt?” I asked him, pointing to a graphic picture of a young minx being thrashed on the bare with a hairbrush.

“Dunno.”

“Well! Let’s find out shall we? Go and fetch the hairbrush off the dressing table in my room!”

“Dad!”

“Fetch it! NOW!”

A minute or so later, he appeared red-faced with the brush in his hand. I snatched it from him, still fuming at his totally inappropriate use of the front room.

“Jeans down! Over my lap!”

Suddenly I was confronted with the reality of the situation I’d created. My son was draped over my knees, his off-white Y-fronts on display, and fully expecting to be battered hard with the oaken brush. I began to have doubts. But it was too late to stop! I cracked the brush down hard, again and again, and my son cried out as the blows hit home. I wasn’t going easy on him, I was so annoyed and so determined. I cracked the brush down again, and then tore his pants down, revealing a severely reddened hide. This seemed to encourage me to hit him even harder, and soon the brush was making frantic contact with his bare teenage flesh. After perhaps twenty more blows I stopped, much to his relief. I was rather embarrassed about it all. His hands flew to his bum as he stood up.

“Let that be a lesson to you! If I find this sort of thing again, I will be getting a cane. Then we can see how you like that!” I was shocked by my idle threat, and by the way my latent sadism had surfaced. “We’ll say no more about it!” I declared, wanting instant closure.

Robert beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom. I picked up the magazine. It was called Swish! I skimmed through the pages. The content turned me on and I soon found myself wanking in the very same room my son had been jerking in! I kept the magazine and it made some very interesting bedtime reading. Needless to say, Robert didn’t ask for it back.

It was a few days later that I bumped into my old headmaster, Dr Dillon. We exchanged some idle chatter in the street and then adjourned to the Crown Inn for a couple of beers. The alcohol soon loosened my tongue, and he found out about how I had disciplined my son.

“Good for you! You did the right thing.” He gently squeezed my hand, saying reassuringly, “Eighteen can be such a difficult age.”

“I don’t know about that. I was so annoyed! I even threatened to buy a cane and use it on him.”

“A cane, eh? Not a bad idea. Could help cure him of his strange interest, I suppose. By the way, call me Dave.”

“Well, Dave, that’s what I threatened him with! He went as white as a sheet.”

“I bet he did. The cane has that effect!”

“I know, I didn’t much care for it back in the day.”

“No, indeed. I remember. Anyway, I can help.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got some canes back at my place. Souvenirs from abolition. You can have one, if you like.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly.”

“Go on. I insist. A good, hard caning is just what your boy needs. I’ve got a few canes, and I can spare you one. After all, they don’t get a lot of use nowadays.”

So it was that we ended up at his house. It was a real tip, which was a surprise, given how he used to lecture us on tidiness and presentation! We made our way into his dining room, where he offered me a chair. He disappeared for a few minutes, then came in with a good half-dozen canes. All of them had that strange curved handle, so familiar to generations of British men.

We talked canes for a short time. He told me all about rattan and how it was so suitable for punishment canes, unlike bamboo which could split and break if used in anger. He swished a few of the canes and so did I. Then there was an awkward silence. “Choose one,” he said, “Any one. They are all much the same.”

I picked the one I’d just been swishing around. He nodded approvingly, “Yes, a fine specimen that one. Of course it can hurt like the blazes. Want a stroke to remind you?”

“Perhaps, I’d better,” I agreed reluctantly and bent over the dining room table. He let rip with the cane which sliced into my trousers. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I cried.

“Hurt a bit did it?” my headmaster asked while laughing sadistically. “Just one more I think, for swearing. Get back down!”

Foolishly I bent over obediently. He let fly again with another scorcher. This time I held my tongue, but as I rose I felt I had to hold my bottom too! God, how it stung and ached, and all after only two strokes!

“Well, what did you think of that little beauty?” he smiled.

“Yes, that would certainly teach him a lesson! I’d forgotten how much a cane can sting,” I admitted, adding “But I’m worried about doing it. I mean, do I just whack him?”

“No there’s a definite technique to it. Watch me!” With that he whacked some cushions and then let me try to do the same. I soon got a feel for the power of the rattan stick and how to handle it. Encouraging me, he said, “You have to aim for the middle of the buttock cheek furthest away from you. Of course what you really need is a real person to practice on.”

“Yes, well that’s not going to happen, now is it? Come on!” I said

“Don’t be so cocky, Kemp! Or I’ll give you some more.”

“Sorry, Sir,” I said, feeling a bit worse for wear after our drinking session, and with those two cane weals throbbing under my trousers.

“You may be surprised to hear this, but I’m not averse to taking a few strokes myself. You can practice on me!”

I was astonished. He couldn’t be serious, could he? But he was, and then to cap it all, he promptly dropped his trousers and underpants and took my place bending over the dining table. I shuddered and hesitated as I gazed at the bare male flesh before me.

“Well, get on with it lad! I don’t have all day!” he ordered.

I lashed a first strike down. It landed spectacularly, right on the manly, naked target and with a most satisfying crack. He grunted, and then said, “Good! You’re a natural! Carry on.” The second stroke was less successful, too tentative evidently, as he admonished, “Harder!” With determination, I then landed four crisp, harder strokes as instructed. My God, what fun it was! Moreover, I was strangely turned on, my rigid cock straining within my Falmers slacks.

I was so grateful for that cane he gave me. I was even more grateful for our friendship. We met up regularly for caning sessions. One thing led to another and we ended up bedding each other. Yes, we became the most unlikely of lovers.

So did I cane my son? You bet! Only a few times, sadly, as he became a pretty well-behaved senior teen, on the whole.

I eventually confided in Mr Kumar that I’d caned young Robert. He just smiled, and then said, “Unfortunately, I don’t think it has cured him, Mr Kemp. He’s been buying even more of the spanking magazines. And some of these homosexual ones too!” He pointed out titles such as Zipper, Him and Vulcan. I was shocked speechless and then he added, “Forgive me, I didn’t want to cause more trouble.” But you know, I rather think he did.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Roderick Cayenne

Reposted to celebrate Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK)

Etching of Edinburgh by John Slezer – Arthur’s Seat is in the background, to the left.

THE FACT (INSPIRATION FROM 2011):

Fire crews were called to tackle a large fire on Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh on Bonfire Night. Lothian and Borders Fire Service said the gorse was alight. Arthur’s Seat is an extinct volcano and a popular spot for watching firework displays on Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK).

I love Scotland

THE FICTION:

Arthur Smith was enjoying his holiday in Scotland. He’d visited a lot of the popular tourist destinations and now found himself in Edinburgh for three days.

One highlight of his visit was to be a session with local disciplinarian Hamish McDonaldson. They had corresponded via an internet spanking contacts site, and now on this cold, rainy evening they were to meet.

Hamish was pleased to see that Arthur had bought himself a kilt.

“So you want a taste of discipline the Scottish way, do you laddie?”

“Yes, please Sir.”

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for! And is this discipline to be on your hands or on your seat?”

“I’d prefer it on my arse, Sir!”

“DON’T YOU EVER USE THAT DISGUSTING WORD IN MY PRESENCE, LAD!”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“YOU WILL BE, LADDIE!”

“Yes, Sir, Sorry Sir.”

“Your punishment has been doubled, whether you like it or not.”

He went to a cupboard and drew out a couple of canes, and three tawses.

“Oh yes, you’re going to be one sorry lad!”

He pointed to a leather-covered stool in the corner of the room.

“Bring the spanking stool to the middle of the room. Then bend over it.”

As Arthur bent over, Hamish flicked the kilt up with a cane.

“Ah good lad, no underwear!”

He put the cane down and caressed the cheeks before him. A little hairier than he liked. Perhaps a little more ample than he liked. But the flesh was tender and begging for discipline.

“Twelve with this light tawse. It was going to be six originally.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The strokes were hard and stinging. The twin tails of the evil tawse wrapped themselves around the generous contours of the bottom. Arthur gasped, and cursed silently. Hamish enjoyed a certain sadistic pleasure as blow after blow reigned down on Arthur’s cheeks.

“How was that laddie?”

“Agony, Sir!”

“Well, we’ve only just begun. Twelve with this senior belt!” Hamish picked up the dark-coloured Glasgow Corporation tawse from the chair next to the spanking stool.

He surveyed the bottom looking for places to aim. This was difficult as the whole bottom was already covered in marks.

WHACK! A first blow landed and Arthur let out something close to a scream.

“Aha! Getting to you now are we, laddie?”

“Yes, Sir.”

WHACK!

“AAAARGGH!”

“I’ll teach you to use disgusting language in my home!”

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The evil tawse did its master’s bidding. Arthur squirmed on the spanking stool. Oh how that beastly leather hurt!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

“Please Sir, I can’t stand any more!”

“REALLY? I think you can, you cowardly wee sassenach! Final two with this belt, laddie. See if you can enjoy them.”

WHACK!

“AAAAAAAARRGH!”

WHACK!

The triple tails wrapped around the bare bottom offered so submissively to Hamish.

“AAARGH!” A final cry from Arthur, as Hamish laughed heartily.

“Did you enjoy those last ones, laddie?”

“No Sir. Not really.”

“How strange! I enjoyed them immensely!”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

“Right laddie! Next up I was going to give you a couple with this XH belt. It’s severe. Of course, the couple has been doubled to four. Very appropriate for the four letter word you said.”

“I only said arse, Sir.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, lad? I wouldn’t recommend it!”

“Sorry.”

“Aye, you will be. You will be. Now shall we play a little game?”

“A game, Sir?”

“Hold your tongue, lad!”.

WHACK! The tawse lashed down. “A!” said Hamish.

WHACK! A harder blow, causing Arthur to buck and squirm. “R!” said Hamish.

WHACK! A fourth blow fell. “E!” said Hamish.

Arthur then felt the hands of his tormentor exploring his naked, disciplined cheeks.

“Laddie, that sure is one fine bottom. It’ll be caned in a minute.”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

But the wandering hands were not finished yet. They caressed the cheeks. The fingers strayed towards the arsehole where they began to probe gently. Arthur moaned submissively, pushing his bottom towards his master. Suddenly six hard smacks reigned down. Hamish then applied a little lubricant and thrust his middle finger up Arthur’s seat. The finger moved in and out and around and around, causing delighted, approving noises from Arthur.

“Time for the cane, laddie.”

Hamish picked up the junior cane. He flexed it and swished it around.

“It was going to be a dozen, but I think you can cope with 24!”

Arthur wasn’t so sure as the first stroke fell. Successive strokes of the beastly cane confirmed his doubts. He had miscalculated when he chose Hamish for his first foray into Scottish discipline. He had met his match and grew ever sorrier as the cane lashed down mercilessly.

At last it was over.

“Well done laddie. Bedtime now. Take this senior cane with you.”

Arthur’s seat was already on fire but would become further inflamed upstairs…

_________________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

That fateful morning, I scowled across the table, picking at my breakfast. “He’s not a bad old stick, after all,” my father said. I wasn’t so sure. OK, the guy was a family friend and had been for years, but I remembered him as a total tyrant in the classroom. In truth, he was always fairly kind to me as I was a teacher’s pet really, but several of my contemporaries had incurred the wrath of his plimsolls and canes. In consequence, I remained wary of him. “Anyway,” father continued, “He has invited you to stay for a fortnight at his new place in the National Park. It was such a generous offer that I accepted immediately, on your behalf.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch, Dad!”

“Well, I’m sorry Adam. I wasn’t aware of your reservations. He is a friend of the family, after all. I think he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed and lonely.”

“Well, that’s not my problem! Of course he’s feeling lonely, that’s because he’s not very likeable!”

“Adam, you’re going! I’m not having you wasting the whole summer here before you start at college. I told you, you should have got a summer job. Besides, your mother and I need some time together.”

“Oh so, that’s it! I’m being packed off so you can shag yourselves silly!”

“ADAM! HOW DARE YOU?” Dad banged his fist down on the table, and I stormed out.

So it was that a week or so later, I found myself being dropped off at Jim Masterson’s new abode, a charming chocolate box cottage down a leafy cul-de-sac right on the edge of the forest. He had done well for himself, I thought as I eyed the wisteria-draped walls.

He greeted me with a hearty handshake and a big grin. I felt reassured and almost instantly at home. The cottage was tiny inside, with the thick walls reducing the floor space significantly. He took me upstairs to the small bedroom that was to be mine for two weeks. It was in need of a lick of paint, and maybe some fresh curtains, but the bed was generous for a single, and seemed warm, dry and welcoming as I sat down on it to unpack my belongings.

However, my happy mood disappeared as soon as I started to hang my clothes in the oak wardrobe. For there, hanging on the dull metal hanging rail, was a school cane. I almost shat myself with fear! What was it doing there? It held out a bitter promise, and there I was stranded with it, a tyrannical teacher downstairs, and miles from civilisation!

That afternoon we went for a walk and ended up at a picnic place in a clearing within the National Park. We sat down and enjoyed a warm cuppa from a flask and a few biscuits.

“Adam, you seem tense. Is there a problem?” Jim asked, and placed his hand on my knee, fleetingly.

“Err, no. I don’t think so. No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Quite! Except…”

“Yes?”

“There’s a cane in my wardrobe! What’s it doing there? It’s not very welcoming is it?”

“Oh that! Yes. It is one of my old school canes.”

“Well, yes, obviously. Still, as I said, a strange welcome.”

“Well. Well, Adam. I was talking to your father and he said you’d been a bit surly and lippy lately. I can see what he was driving at, in a way. Anyway, it was his idea to put it there. Just to wind you up, really. I’m sorry.”

“To wind me up? Well, that’s certainly worked!”

“Hmm. You do seem a bit overwrought, my lad.”

“Well! I got through school without ever being caned by behaving myself.”

“Wait a minute! That’s quite an achievement, Adam. Really it is. Eighteen and never been thrashed, eh? That’s quite unusual even in these modern times. No wonder you’re upset at the prospect.”

“What prospect?” I asked with alarm.

“Well, not really a prospect. Your father thought you should offer to take a caning. He told me what you’d said, you know.”

“No, you’re not! But there it is. Just get them down while I go and fetch the cane.”

He soon reappeared, slicing the stick through the air.

It was so degrading. Stick my bottom out indeed! Still, I couldn’t argue. I’d agreed to it, and how bad could it really be?

CRACK! The first stroke caught me unawares. The pain soon followed, it was excruciating! My flesh immediately felt as if it had been blowtorched! Shit, that was hot!

The second stroke followed rapidly and hurt my delicate teenage flesh badly. The pain mingled with that from the first stroke. I was struggling to retain my composure and my submissive position. My head was spinning, feeling dizzy. He stopped and sliced the cane through the air a few times before speaking.

“Not very nice, eh?”

“No, Sir!” I replied.

“Just what the doctor ordered! Long overdue! I should have taken you down a peg or two when you were my pupil. You wouldn’t have dared speak to your father like that!”

“No, Sir!” I replied again, thoroughly humiliated.

“And you wouldn’t have dared use obscene language,” he said, simultaneously slicing the cane down for a wicked third stroke. Boy, did that one hurt! It seared and throbbed and burnt.

“Can I get up for a minute, Sir? I feel a bit light-headed.”

Suddenly he was alarmed. He placed his hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. He sighed, and then spoke, “I hope you’re not playing for time, my lad. I’m not going to let you off, you know. Perhaps you’d better bend over one of these dining chairs?”

It was a good idea. I placed my hands flat on the seat of the wooden chair, and stuck my aching bottom out submissively.

“Just the job. Good stuff. Good lad. You’re taking this well.”

If that was a compliment, I was a bit surprised. I pushed my bottom out further awaiting a further stinging rattan caress. It came with a loud whipping sound and a wave of intense pain. I gasped and screwed up my face. This was hard to take. How ever did schoolboys manage to take it, I wondered?

Mr Masterson tutted, “That’s not allowed you know! I suggest you get back into position straight away. Unless you want me to make it a round dozen?”

I’d never moved so fast in my life! I bent over, thrusting my naked cheeks provocatively at my tormentor. I wanted it over. I wanted it over and to be just the original six strokes.

“That’s better! Last one, then. Coming now!”

And it did come! And then some. Later on as I examined the damage, it was apparent that this last stroke had been aimed diagonally. It fucking hurt, that was for sure.

I stood up and hoisted my Y-fronts and trousers back into place. The material rubbed against my injured flesh. All the same, it was a not unpleasant sensation. I felt cleansed. I smiled at Mr Masterson and sighed, “Thank you, Sir. I needed that, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did lad, you certainly did. Has it done the trick?”

“Oh, I think so, thank you, Sir. I do feel I’ve paid my dues.”

“Good. Well, let me know if it hasn’t cleared the air and I’ll do it again for you.”

I thanked him sincerely, much to my amazement. Why would I ever ask for more? Even if I were to feel some residual guilt?

“Right then! You’d better return the cane to its home. We’ll know where to find it if it’s needed again then, won’t we?”

I took the cane from him. It felt light and innocuous. I walked up the narrow stairs acutely aware of the sore throbbing in the rear of my underpants. I hung the cane back on the rail in the wardrobe and stared at its lithe form. Unconsciously, I was rubbing my scorched bottom cheeks. That thing certainly packed a punch!

By the time I went downstairs, Mr Masterson was on the phone, evidently talking to my father.

“He took it like a man. Yes, that was good as I didn’t go easy on him. Just six. That’s usually enough, I find. Anyway, I’m going to do you another favour. No, no, I insist. At the end of the holiday, I’m going to send the lad home with a cane for you to use. Use it good and often! No, there’s nothing to it. You’ll soon get the hang of it. The cane does all the hard work. No, really, I know what I’m talking about. Regular reminders do a college lad no harm at all.”

The colour drained from my face. Shit, he was giving dad a cane to use on me! But I was 18 and bound for college! Shit! Much too old for the cane, surely? Then I reflected on my own stupidity, for how could I claim to be too old after what I’d just submitted to?

I got on really well with Jim, Mr Masterson, for the rest of the holiday. We didn’t talk about the cane much until the last evening I was there.

“Well young Adam, a memorable break for you, then?”

“Yes, thanks! It’s been a real tonic here in the forest. Thank you for having me. Although my bum’s not so sure!”

“Ah yes, your bum, as you like to call it. In the staff room we call that part of the anatomy your seat of learning! Have you learnt your lesson, Adam, or do you need a reminder before you go home?”

I really don’t know why, but I agreed to another caning! It just felt so right. I was making up for lost time in so many ways. It was another six of the best and that caning was just as hard as the first. I found it just as cleansing, and almost an enjoyable challenge. That night, I masturbated furiously as I wriggled my sore bottom against the bed sheets, imagining first Mr Masterson and then Dad caning me. Well, that was a sweet fantasy and the reality is a story for another day, don’t you think? As I fell asleep I was minded to think of the cane as an old friend of the family, and not a bad old stick after all.

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Comments welcome

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The Cane

Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.

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All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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